Beneath the Night Sky

As night fell, only a razor-thin Blood Moon remained on the horizon, like a wound torn across the sky.

Dark red light seeped from it like blood, staining half the sky.

Fortunately, the faint orange-red glow of the Most Holy Origin Furnace held that chilling encroachment beyond the human kingdoms.

After a full day's march, the column of several thousand finally stopped to make camp.

They were still deep within the Kingdom of Austeria, some distance from the Eternal Night Wall. Tonight, no one needed to sleep with a weapon in hand.

Shien's temporary camp naturally fell into three rings.

The innermost held the Church Knights and their attendants. They sat around a low fire without speaking, the only sound the faint scrape of whetstones against blades.

The middle ring held knights and soldiers from the Greywood Lineage and Osteria, along with a few clerks traveling with them.

The fires burned high, flasks passed from hand to hand, dice clattered against iron shields, and crude jokes came one after another.

Their laughter was loud and grating, as though they were trying to drown out their unease.

The outermost ring held the convicts and serfs. They crouched in the shadows, silent.

Food went to the inner ring first.

Thick meat stew was ladled into wooden bowls. Hefty slices of meat and cheese sat in the broth, sending up steam and a rich aroma that spread on the night wind.

Even the knights looked unusually pleased. This was not something even they ate every day.

But when the next pot was carried toward the outer ring, the fireside fell silent for a moment.

The convicts received pieces of hard biscuit and a ladle of hot broth with a greasy smell. There was no visible meat, but its aroma was unmistakable.

They froze, glanced up to make sure, then quickly lowered their heads and clutched the broth and biscuits to their chests, as though afraid they would be taken back.

At the sight, the knights exchanged looks.

"Meat broth for them? Do those convicts deserve even a taste of meat?"

"Is the little lord planning to eat through the family fortune on the road and die with a full belly?"

"You mustn't speak of the lord that way." A deep voice came from the other side of the fire.

Everyone turned. It was Ivan. Built like an ox, he stood out even among the knights.

Though still young, he was already a Third Tier Resonance Realm knight. With his talent, the family should never have sent him to the Eternal Night Wall, yet for some reason, he had been assigned to this expedition.

Ivan raised his head and did not back down before the dozens of eyes on him.

"Lord Shien commands us. He has the right to decide rewards, punishments, and allocations." He paused, as if reciting an oath. "The lord's decisions are not ours to question."

He had barely finished before laughter erupted around the fire.

Hans, one of the knight captains, patted Ivan on the shoulder. "That's right, that's right. Lick the lord's boots clean, and maybe he'll give you a plot of land."

Someone immediately chimed in. "Survive next year's Blood Moon first. Then we can talk about rewards."

"Hahaha! Hahaha..."

The laughter went on, harsh enough to sting.

Ivan said nothing more. He sat at the edge of the firelight, his broad back looking awkward.

He truly believed what he had said, but no one wanted to believe him.

After dinner, a guard walked to the center of the camp and shouted, "Everyone, assemble! The lord has something to say!"

Reluctantly, the crowd tucked their flasks back into their belts and rose in scattered groups. Their eyes held confusion, impatience, and undisguised contempt.

What could a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old bastard possibly say that was worth hearing?

While the others ate dinner, Shien had stood alone on a mound at the edge of camp, looking down over the crowd and recalling the thick stack of records.

Four hundred and eighty-three people in all.

They were the foundation of his future territory and his best chance of staying alive.

The Greywood Lineage's knights and warriors numbered two hundred and two.

Nominally the earldom's finest defenders and his strongest support, they were in fact the most resentful.

They had once enjoyed stable postings and a path to promotion. Now they had been drafted into an expedition destined to be spent.

The Kingdom of Austeria had supplied eighty-four warriors and knights.

They were regular troops sent to reinforce him, but they came from disparate units, with little organization.

Some came from frontier legions, others had been hastily reassigned. Most were strangers to one another, sent under his command for making mistakes—or simply for being unlucky.

If he mishandled them, they would fall apart in their first real battle.

The forty Church Knights and other clergy had the best equipment and the neatest formation.

They were the sharpest blade in the force, but its hilt was not in his hand. If Shien took so much as one step back, those blades would be the first turned on him.

There were a hundred and twenty-nine convicts and laborers: petty offenders, bankrupt farmers, and landless tenants all thrown together...

The twenty-eight Alchemists, artisans, and other specialists were the most valuable assets in his eyes, the true pillars on which he could rebuild his territory.

As Shien watched the camp and checked it against the ledgers in his head, he found more problems than he had expected.

Supplies were being skimmed at every stage of distribution. The figures in the ledgers were exact, but the money and goods in the bags were noticeably short. Put plainly, someone was stealing.

Order in the camp was also slipping.

Kingdom infantrymen who should have been on patrol leaned against wagons, drinking and joking with their armor loose.

Artisans who should have been protected huddled over the carts, carefully guarding their tools.

Now and then, a whip struck a convict's back for no reason but to vent someone's frustration.

Worse still was the state of morale. Some knights were even whispering that the Graymist Defense Zone could not be held.

Better to go through the motions and conserve their strength than risk their lives. When things became desperate, they could quietly retreat Inland.

The fact that these words had reached Shien meant they had already spread through the force. It was dangerous, and he had to deal with it at once.

Shien then looked past his camp toward those of the other four newly appointed lords in the distance. Their fires were scattered, their camps just as noisy.

From what he could see, their situations were much like his. By sheer size, his own force even ranked third.

But none of them had noticed the problems. They were busy comforting weeping family members or blustering to appear calm. Some were even drinking to steady their nerves.

Everyone believed the real test lay beyond the Eternal Night Wall.

No one realized the collapse had already begun within.

Shien sighed. How could he hold the Graymist Defense Zone alongside these fools?

Then an unwelcome thought surfaced.

Perhaps the Church had never intended for them to hold the Graymist Defense Zone for long. Perhaps they were only meant to withstand this year's Blood Moon Season.

As for next year... the Church could find stronger fighters to replace them, or send another batch of people to buy one more year.

They were little more than expendable supplies, their lives burned up simply to buy time.

Shien had long suspected as much, but the thought still chilled him.

He forced himself to stop following that line of reasoning. Speculating about the Church's strategy served no purpose for now.

He looked down at the figures gathering in loose clusters below.

If they were being treated as expendable, then all the more reason not to live like it. Even if his only hope was a single straw, he would fight to hold on.

First, he had to bring the chaos before him under control.

Only once this force could function did he have any hope of deciding what came next.

The crowd slowly converged on the mound.

Hans was among them.

He was one of the two captains of the Greywood Lineage's hundred-strong knight contingent, making him a key figure in the force.

He had served two years at the Eternal Night Wall and personally slain Dark Creatures. He was one of the few there who had truly faced the Blood Moon.

To Hans, the fourteen-year-old lord was nothing more than an unwanted son his family had sent away.

He did not believe such a boy could command knights who would have to fight for their lives on the wall.

So in his eyes, this gathering was nothing but a futile show.

He had already imagined the boy's speech: a display of weakness, attempts to win them over, flattery meant to buy their support.

Perhaps I should put him in his place while I'm at it, Hans thought.

The other knights felt much the same. None cared what their young lord had to say.

"The little lord has something to say?"

"Trying to assert his authority already?"

"What could a kid who's still wet behind the ears possibly say?"

Low mutters passed through the crowd.

But when they raised their heads toward the mound, their voices gradually faded.

The boy on the rise wore a dark cloak, his silver-white hair gleaming coldly beneath the Blood Moon.

He was young—young enough to invite instinctive contempt.

Yet once their eyes settled on him, they found it hard to look away.

His almost unnerving composure contrasted sharply with his still-youthful face, yet somehow the two did not seem at odds.

Hans's brow tightened, and his smile faded without him realizing it.

Shien stood above them without rushing to speak. His gaze traveled inch by inch from the knights in the front row to the convicts at the far edge.

At first, a few scattered murmurs remained. Then those, too, died away.

After two minutes, the camp's clamor had given way to dead silence. Only the fires crackled.

Only then did the young lord speak. "I thought I was taking command of warriors. Instead, all I see is a heap of rotten meat waiting to be devoured by the Dark Races."